The Birth of Eliot Spencer
by GuiltyPleasuresAndDeadlySins
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Angsty one-shot. Probably AU. Warning: suicide and other disturbing themes. No like, no read.


_A/N: The first part doesn't really see much from __**our**__ Eliot's point of view. But it'll come to that. And the woman __**isn't**__Eliot. I promise you that._

_Disclaimer: Nothings mine._

* * *

Elliot Spencer watched the young boy stumble along the street. He didn't seem entirely aware of his surroundings. She frowned to herself, lifting her fag to her lips, and taking a drag. Her companion followed her gaze.

"What d'yah think you can do?" he drawled. She glanced over at the man, he wasn't really her friend, in fact, all he was, was a client. He was nice enough to take her for coffee afterwards, like they were old friends, not just the girl he was screwing on the side.

"Is that really any of your business?" she snapped looking away and back to the boy. "Besides, shouldn't you be getting home? Your wife'll be wondering where you are."

"Kid's mine."

Elliot didn't let her face betray her thoughts, _'All the more reason to get him away from you then.'_ The man was violent, she knew this, she'd got more than her fair share of bruises off him when he'd come to her in a foul mood, but she couldn't afford to turn him away. She smiled falsely at him.

"Doesn't mean he can't be out wandering, it's not the worst neighbourhood in the world, you get on home, I'll make sure no harm comes to him."

The man smirked and leant over to kiss her cheek, slipping some bills into her hand. She smiled falsely again and watched him leave, before counting the money, slipping it into the pocket of her jeans and getting up to follow the kid she'd seen earlier. It wasn't too hard to follow him, he wasn't as skilled as some of the people she'd tailed. She may be a whore, but she had other skills. She was an alright thief, a fine fighter when needed, and a damn good tracker. As she watched him, completely comfortable on her home turf, she noted him lifting a guy's wallet and tensed as the guy and his friend rounded on the kid. The two of them were jackasses, plain and simple, hard guys who'd think nothing of beating the crap out of a kid. She broke into a sprint and quickly caught the kid and hauled him into a hug, noticing the way he tensed automatically.

"We've been so worried about you!" she exclaimed, playing the part of worried older sister very well. "Come on, we've got to get home!"

She was incredibly glad that the boy seemed to have enough sense to play along with her. She wasn't so glad that as she moved to tug him away, a hand fastened on her other wrist, yanking her around. A hand caught Elliot's face, snapping her head to the side. She hesitated just a moment before she lashed out with her fist, her knee jerking up into the guys crotch, grabbing the kid and running.

She knew these streets better than the people chasing them, and several minutes of dodging later, she had the two of them concealed in an abandoned apartment building. It wasn't exactly abandoned – after all, _she_ lived there. But for the most part, she had it to herself.

"You alright kid?" she asked when she was sure they weren't going to be discovered.

The kid just stared at her, and Elliot did a quick assessment of his state. A black eye – pretty fresh, last night perhaps? – the way he was holding himself – probably bruised or broken ribs – and bruises around his neck. She made a tiny sound of displeasure in her throat and noticed the kid stiffening. She shook her head.

"Let's get some ice on that eye," she told him, resting a light hand on his shoulder and pushing him towards her apartment.

He went reluctantly enough, but didn't seem up to protesting. Once there, she pushed him down on the ruined couch and searched her freezer for ice. She'd hijacked another electricity line and wasn't having to pay – it was brilliant. She quickly discovered that she lacked ice, and instead grabbed the bag of frozen peas she used for her own wounds (it was the only reason she kept them, she wasn't too fond of peas).

"Here," she stated, sitting down next to him and gently putting the peas to his eye. "What happened to you kid?"

He didn't answer, tensing up. Elliot smiled gently at him.

"Sweetheart, you can trust me."

"Can't," the boy murmured finally. "Can't trust anyone."

"Believe me, I know the feeling. Cops won't help you, no-one listens, you get accused of lying, getting into fights, being a klutz. I've been there kid, still would've been if I hadn't run away."

The boy was still wary of her, she could tell, she shrugged and went back into the kitchenette.

"Something to drink?"

The boy looked at her, and Elliot rolled her eyes, pouring two glasses of orange juice, spiking her own liberally with the vodka she'd nicked last time she went shopping, and handing the unspiked one to the kid, pulling out a fag to light up again. She took a sip of her drink, smirking at the burn it produced in her throat – quite frankly, she'd have preferred straight vodka, but she wasn't going to drink spirits straight in front of a kid. She just sat silently, legs crossed, head leant back when she wasn't drinking, musing on how shit life could be.

Eventually, the boy's timid voice broke the silence. "Why're you doing this?"

She looked over at him, and considered his question, tipping her head onto one side. "Like I said, I know where you are, I've been there. Your father's a cop…"

"How'd you know that?"

"I know 'im…sorta. Kid, you can't go to the cops, and I won't turn yah in. Can't go to the cops either, would probably get arrested. S'long as I stay on me own side of town, I'm good, and they'll take my offers, and pay me for my time…" _'Way to skirt around your job whore,' _her mind taunted. "…But on their turf, I'm fair game. What happened to you?"

The boy looked up at her, eyes holding a slightly hopeful glint. "Um…I…I did something wrong. My father he…"

"Beat the shit outta you?"

She got a nod for her assessment.

"Wasn't your fault kid. Never is. S'just what they tell you."

"How do you know that?" the kid asked her quietly.

"Told you already, I've been there."

Silence fell between them, and for the first time since she'd run away, Elliot found herself letting herself care for someone other than herself.

* * *

It was a week later before Elliot saw the kid again. He still didn't give her a name, and she still didn't ask. He was in a worse state than last time, and came to her voluntarily. She cleaned up his wounds as best she could and made a decision. She knew a forger and hacker who owed her some favours, she'd call them in. Half an hour later, she had a plan formed. They were leaving, her and the kid, they were getting as far away from this hellhole as possible. The kid would go to school, and she'd get a job in a diner (hopefully being able to support both of them). Her 'friend' was getting her IDs that proved that the kid was her little brother, and inserting records into a school in a town miles away. The kid was asleep for the moment, and for that Elliot was grateful. She was busy getting her own stuff together, she didn't want to think about the fact that if she was caught, she could get done for kidnapping – never mind that she technically wasn't old enough to look after a kid. Eighteen she may be, but that really wasn't old enough in her book.

With a sigh, she pulled out her bottle of vodka and tipped it back, necking the end of the clear liquid. Great, now she was out of alcohol. Grabbing the packet of fags off the counter she opened them, and prayed that the hacker would have the good sense to give her money as well. She pulled out her last fag and lit it up. Lord above she was pathetic. About to drag some kid away from the only life he'd known, to live in a different city with her, an eighteen year old whore who was addicted to fags and probably an alcoholic to boot. It was a bet in her own mind, which would kill her first, cancer, or her liver giving out.

There was a knock on her door, jerking the boy out of his light sleep (something Elliot had been able to avoid doing, she'd learnt to move silently at a young age). She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder briefly as she headed for the door. She opened it and had a bag handed to her.

"Everything's in there sweets," the hacker stated calmly, holding up a set of keys. "Thought you could use a ride."

"Thanks," Elliot smiled at him. "This is just what I needed. We're even."

"Glad, didn't want you calling in any more favours like _this_. Do you know how hard it is to-?"

Elliot cut him off with a fast, harsh kiss, before closing the door firmly in his face. She turned back to the kid, joining him on the couch and opening the bag. She pulled out the new ID. He took it hesitantly and then looked at it.

"William Spencer?" he asked hesitantly.

"You're now my baby bro," she told him with a grin. "Full guardianship fell to me after our parents' unfortunate death three years ago. We've just moved into the town where you'll be going to school. You alright with that kid?"

He looked up at her. "Why would you do this for me?"

"Cause I hate seeing kids hurt."

He didn't ask her anymore questions as she packed up her stuff, and led him down to the car the hacker had given her. By the time they were on their way out of town, the newly dubbed 'Will' was asleep.

* * *

It had been three months since they'd left town, and had settled into life in this small town. Will didn't know that Elliot drank and smoke as much as she did, didn't realize just how much she had to steal to keep them alive. Elliot made sure he never found out. He'd come home a few days after he'd started at his 'new' school with more bruises and she'd decided to teach him to fight. So, their impromptu lessons had started, with Elliot teaching him all the dirty fighting tricks she knew. Soon Will had got the message – take 'em down fast, and take 'em down hard, use whatever speed and strength you got against 'em, and don't let 'em get the first hit in. He stopped losing fights after that.

Elliot worked at the local diner, picking up as many shifts as was viable with a 'younger brother', and a need to sleep. She earned enough to pay the rent on the crappy little apartment they were living in, and enough to feed Will. To feed herself, and her addictions, she stole. She made a habit of never drinking properly when he was around. She never got drunk, (after years of drinking hard liquor, her alcohol tolerance rivalled that of a man many times her age), just tipsy, and never when she thought Will would find out. She knew that she wouldn't survive without her vices, and quite frankly, she didn't _want_ to survive without them either. But she'd looked after the kid. She'd promised herself that.

She realized quickly that he was going to be a better fighter than her, and found some money to get him proper fighting lessons. He got better and better, and she could just watch him proudly, glad she'd chosen to get him out of the life he'd been living. Still, she knew that this screwed version of paradise in which they lived wouldn't last – it never did, especially not for her. Somehow the cops hadn't figure out who Will was – letting him grow his hair had helped, and once the bruises were cleared up, there probably wasn't a picture his 'father' had that would make him recognizable.

But still, one day, their paradise was shattered – not that Will knew it for a few more weeks. It was six months after they'd escaped their old 'hometown'. Elliot had found herself getting paranoid, seeing flashes of people she'd known in her past, yet knowing that they _couldn't_ be there. She figured she was hallucinating pretty fast, her liver was finally giving in. A few days after that, she found the cough she'd had almost constantly for the past year or so (months before she'd met Will), taking a more serious turn. She'd been bent over the kitchenette sink coughing when she realized there was red liquid spattering the metal. That was when her almost ruined taste-buds alerted her to the metallic taste in her mouth. She spat, more red, blood.

She rinsed out the sink and her mouth, splashing her face, and getting rid of any traces. Once Will was off to school, she headed for the free clinic, calling work to let them know she was going to be late.

A week later she had the news. She had cancer. And she wasn't going to be recovering. She wouldn't tell Will. She _couldn't_ tell Will. She went to work, joked with him like always, sparred with him when she had the energy, and drank even more. He was starting to notice that the woman he _had_ come to view as his older sister wasn't the woman she had been when they'd first met, and Elliot just couldn't take it anymore. She wasn't going to die in a hospital, devoid of all her strength. So she made her plans – she'd be ending things on _her_ terms.

So, like always, she packed Will off to school. She called in to work sick, and she put her plan into action.

* * *

Will went to the diner his sister worked at. Elliot had been great to him over the past months, looking after him, teaching him to fight, doing everything to keep him out of trouble. One of his sister's colleagues smiled at him.

"Ellie didn't come in to work today," she told him, handing him a milkshake. "Called in sick. Give her my best would yah?"

"Sure," Will nodded, and hurried home. She'd been fine when he'd left that morning.

Getting back, he let himself into their apartment and called out her name. She didn't answer and he quickly searched the apartment. Not in the kitchenette, definitely not in the living room, or the small bedroom, that left the bathroom. He slipped in and stared. Elliot was lying in the tub, her wrists cut open and blood still dripping from them. He ran over and shook her. She didn't respond. He placed to fingers to her neck, where her pulse should've been (she'd taught him to do it). There was nothing, and her skin was cold. She wasn't coming back. He noticed a piece of paper laying on the sink and picked it up.

_Hey Will,_ it read. _I'm sorry. Should've told you something was up. Goes like this kidda. I was dying anyway. Had cancer, and my liver was giving out – knew I shouldn't drink and smoke so much, been told often enough. You look after yourself, remember what I taught you. take 'em down fast, and take 'em down hard, use whatever speed and strength you got against 'em, and don't let 'em get the first hit in. Don't let yourself become like me, a hopelessly addicted whore, who knows they're gonna die. Don't fool yourself into thinking that just 'one drink' will make you forget all your problems. It won't. Don't believe it ever will. You'll do good kid, I can tell. I guess I'll be seeing you – if there's such a place as hell that is. But then again someone like you'll probably head to heaven. You got a heart of gold, guard it, don't let the bastards who think they run this world beat it out of you. You got me? Ellie._

"Yeah Ellie," he whispered quietly. "I got you."

Sadly he went to where their phone was in the living room and dialled '911'. The rest of the day passed in a blur.

* * *

Three weeks after being put into the system, William Spencer disappeared. Four years later, a young man, bearing a striking resemblance to the kid whose sister had copped herself joined the army under a different name. Five years after that, he was discharged. A year after that 'Eliot Spencer' appeared, doing whatever work he could – retrieval, assassinations, whatever. For years he was on his own, but he always went back to that small town, who no-one ever remembered the name of. Every year, regular, like clockwork, he turned up, called in at the same diner, gave the girls behind the counter a generous tip, went to the cemetery and laid flowers on the grave of the only person he would ever consider family.

Even after he joined the Leverage team, he kept up his routine. Watching Nate sickened him. He remembered the words in his sister's final letter to him. He still had the letter, still read it when he needed to remind himself what he fought for. He fought for the people who couldn't fight for themselves. Then the team split up, then they got back together again, and they were plunged back into the world of doing good, only this time, being in the same room as Nate didn't sicken him, didn't make him think he was going to have to watch another person he found himself caring about die. He found himself in another family. A family he hadn't wanted, but one he was glad to have.

During the Tap-Out Job he found himself baring more of his soul than he wanted to, to Sophie, the violence in his head needing an outlet, needing someone who knew. He didn't mention his sister. After the Order 23 job, even though it wasn't time for him to go yet, he found he had to, after watching the marshal take Randy away from that house, he went down to the nameless town, left a generous tip, and went to the cemetery. He knelt in front of her grave.

"I remember you," he whispered, just like he always did, his fingers tracing the engraving on the head stone.

'Elliot Spencer, Beloved Sister'.

"I always will."

When he got back to the offices, the others were waiting, worried for him. He didn't really take off without telling them he was going. He listened the questions he didn't want to answer, but didn't really hear the words his concerned team said.

"Where were you?" Sophie's question finally pulled him out of his strange state. He stared at her for a moment.

"Payin' a visit to the reason I exist," he whispered, not sure why he said it.

* * *

It was weeks later before the others understood, this time it _was_ the anniversary, this time, they followed him. When he turned around to find them standing behind him in the cemetery, he was amazed when his first reaction wasn't anger. Instead, he let Parker and Sophie hug him, before they wrapped their arms around him and led him back to the car. Hardison made some comment about getting his bike brought back to their HQ, and Nate told him they understood, that they were there for him.

Eliot knew they didn't understand. How could they? None of them had had someone they loved kill themselves. Sure Nate had seen his son die, but then he'd lost himself in the bottle, and Eliot knew that only led to more pain. But he knew that they were there for him. And he appreciated it. They were a screwed family, but they were still a family.

So, with one final glance at the cemetery, he let them lead him away from the woman who'd given birth to the man he was today. Because he would remember her, until the day he died. He was going to make sure of that. That was why he'd taken her name. To remind himself of just what the world could do to a person who just wanted to survive. But just surviving wasn't enough anymore. Now, he wanted to live, to love and be loved. Like Elliot had said, he had a heart of gold, no matter how much he tried to hide it, it hadn't been beaten out of him. He hadn't let it.

And if anyone hurt his new family, so help him, that person was going to suffer a slow and painful death at his hands.

Because no matter what Elliot might think, he was going to see her again, whether in heaven or hell he didn't know – if either of them existed. Cause if she deserved hell, then so did he, and if he deserved heaven, then she sure as hell did.

But that was it. That was what it was. And Eliot Spencer had been born out of trials, and tribulations, and a woman who cared despite what she'd been through.

* * *

_Opinions?_


End file.
